


The Quiet Flame

by ObnoxiousMilletGuardian



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 5 Things, 5 Times, Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blind Ignis Scientia, Bruises, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Deathfic, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, IgNoct, Injury, M/M, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Sickfic, Vomiting, vigil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ObnoxiousMilletGuardian/pseuds/ObnoxiousMilletGuardian
Summary: Five times Noct took care of his Iggy, and the one time Ignis Scientia took care of his King





	The Quiet Flame

**Author's Note:**

> Finished the game a few months ago. Still not over it. 
> 
> This is tagged IgNoct but it’s not explicitly so. It’s more to cover my arse should you wish to read this with the view of IgNoct. I’m also new to writing again after a years-long writing hiatus and I’m still struggling to find my confidence and rhythm, please forgive me xx

I

 

Ignis is shivering. He’s forgotten his coat. But he reckons he would be shivering anyway, even if it wasn’t an early spring evening, because sometimes he does a little bit. From excitement, anticipation, that little prickle of fear- they’ve only been caught once before and the telling off he got from the King wasn’t _so_ bad. He didn’t cry, anyway, and that was the important thing. But the anxiety likes to nibble at him with every excursion, and it never goes away the whole time. Always there from the moment he slips out of his room and tiptoes on soft socks all the way down the hall to Noct’s quarters, right until the moment they get back.

It _is_ pretty cold at the moment though. A brief breeze whistles between the copse of royal cedars and it cuts through Ignis with the force of a solid shard of ice. He tightens his grip on the handle of the fishing box he has in his left hand to stop any more shaking. Odd, how he forgot his coat. But then he’s been so tired recently, he’s been forgetting lots of things. His new school books, the bigger timetable, the fresh equipment- Marshall Leonis and Miss Elshett have told him twice now that he needs to make lists for himself until he adapts to his new lessons, but he’s too embarrassed to admit how even forgets to make those. It’s because his brain at the moment is nothing but a continuous haze of exhaustion, over-boiled and strung out, but he tells himself that he’ll learn. The Marshall says he will get stronger, less tired, and he’ll master his new studies too, and Ignis believes him because he has to.

His right arm starts swinging back and forth, drawing him out of his thoughts. He turns his head to look down at Noct. His young prince doesn’t seem to notice how he’s rocking their held hands, his gaze firmly locked on the fence that’s still some way off ahead of them. His pale cheeks stick out luminous as the moon in the dark wooded walkway, complete with near-permeant shades of tired purple stuck under his eyes. Ignis frowns, as he always does when he notices them.

He still doesn’t understand it, and if he had the words and the bravery of age, he’d say what confuses him out loud to someone who would listen. Noctis was sent to Tenebrae a year ago to get _better_ , and everyone at court seems to think that’s what happened as they talk of praises and miracles. But Ignis believes that the adults just do not see what he’s seeing. Yes, their prince is back on his feet (somewhat). He walks. He talks. He does everything he did before, but it’s all different somehow. There’s a different Noct, a Noct with less smiles, less laughter, more screaming in the night. A Noct that has a listless face and a mouth trying to hide a grimace when he has to focus on putting one foot in front of another. A bouncy spirit Ignis loves now more often sitting curling up on itself with pain and emotions anyone would struggle to describe. No, surely the adults don’t see this, or Ignis believes they would do something about it. He’d like to rage at them all sometimes- those who cluck and titter around the prince and dare suggest that Noctis got ‘lucky’ with his ordeals.

Noctis catches Ignis staring at him, and Ignis draws his mind clean of his thoughts. He gives Noct his widest smile, wiggling his nose to make his glasses wiggle too. He counts it as a small victory when Noct’s gives his own tiny quirk of a grin. Yet it’s lost as the cloud of seriousness passes back over his face, teeth nibbling at a dry bottom lip.

“You’re not talking today, Iggy.”

Ignis usually fills this short walk with idle chatter. Telling Noctis everything about his day, what he’s seen. He likes to report to his prince because he prides himself on practising all the skills he’ll need as the future retainer so that when Noct is King, Ignis will always know what to say and do. And he knows that Noctis likes to listen, or pretends to, at least.

But like his coat, Ignis has forgotten to talk. He’s been far too tired, too bone weary to think of something to say and he honestly doesn’t remember much of his day as it is, let alone to try and condense it and make it a story entertaining enough for Noct. Ignis’s mind won’t stop wandering, fixating on and off on the idle and serious. He can’t help it, the weight of the future is lying heavy in hands that aren’t much bigger than his best friend’s, and fatigue has a tender way of picking up every prepubescent emotion and rack the intensity up past a hundred.

“Sorry, Nocty.” Ignis uses the toddler-era nickname without thinking, even though he’s been yelled at enough times to stop using it of late. “I’m a bit tired.”

Ignis thinks the understatement is enough to pacify Noctis, but then he knows that Noctis never misses anything. The frown deepens on Noct’s face.

“Dad told me you’re doing more study.”

“Yes. It’s for the Annual Exam.” Ignis replies, withholding a sigh. He’s going to take it two years earlier than he would usually, so that he can be allowed to start classes on politics and Lucian law. A prospect he was ridiculously excited about at the start of the year, but now? Now he curses his own ignorance in the ways only an eleven-year-old can.

Ignis isn’t sure that he’s kept the quiet dread that fills up his mind out of his voice, and he knows that he’s failed when Noctis screws up his face even more. Warm fingers tighten around Ignis’s hand. Their arms stop swinging.

“Does it mean you won’t be around as much?”

“No.” Ignis squeezes his hand back in response, voice firm, “I’m still here for you. Like always.”

They’ve reached the eleven-foot-tall chain link fence that surrounds the outer perimeter of the citadel and acts as the last line of defence. Ignis and Noctis always go for the same section, and Ignis pulls back a shrub he sneakily planted a summer back to reveal the small, just over child-sized hole, fashioned in luck by a manufacturing mistake and acts as a joyous gateway to another world. _Their_ other world.

(And at the moment, this other world is part of the best solution Ignis has to try and bring out Noctis he remembers before the Marlith attack.)

“You sure you don’t want me to carry that?” Ignis tugs at the backpack resting on Noct’s shoulders. It’s looks far too big for him. Heavy too, the bottom sagging with some form of dent-y object. But like he did at the beginning when Ignis first asked before they set out, Noct grips at the straps protectively. Shaking his head and giving the same answer as before.

“It’s got a surprise in it.”

Ignis knows better than to push it, shuffling after Noctis with a lot more effort through the hole in the fence. The quiet grounds of the citadel switch to the continuous rumbles and roars of Insomnia, the streets spilling ahead of them.

After a few turns down some well-remembered alleys and side-streets, Noctis and Ignis reach the city centre and it blooms ahead of them like a hot neon flower. No matter the time, even now at the supposedly mild few hours between rush hour and the nightlife, the shops and food joints and meeting areas are alive and beating with people. Here families spend a rare hour together, couples go on shy dates, and children chase each other sharing fizzy drinks and doughnuts. There’s life: happy, busy, beating with individual stories that all sound familiar and different all at once.

The change from the deathly quiet outer gardens of the citadel to the atmospheric maze of light that is the city centre has an instant effect on both boys. For Ignis every dulled sense begins to twinge at alertness but in a good, reviving way. He always likes this bit where they trundle through the city that wears the title of never sleeping with pride, because Ignis likes to let that pride wash through him. Looking at the people, the places, the interactions and seamless threads of living and think that yes, Noct will rule over this one day, but they also get to pretend here that they are two normal boys. Like everyone else, weaving in between the rest of the Lucian people who go about their lives. It’s a chance to be part of Insomnia in another way.

What is more important is how Ignis likes the change it brings in Noctis. He walks a little straighter, a smile pulling wide at his lips. He pulls on Ignis’s hand too, impatient now for Crepera park as he dips and dives between the crowds, nimble as a hungry cat. They reach the park just as the sun starts her final slow sink, dipping with the park’s big hill that Ignis climbs over with Noctis on his shoulders, bag and all. It’s their worthy hike that’s needed in order to reach Crepera’s large royal fishing pond. A delight that attracts fans far and wide.

As Ignis reaches the top, he never misses the little intake of breath he hears against his neck. He can’t see Noctis’s face, but he knows it’s beaming with more light than the city itself, eager eyes looking at the large body of water below them that’s filled with glowing fish that play peek a boo in the approaching dark. Ignis smiles too, because he can’t help himself. That little reaction Noctis makes every time they reach the pond is the reason why Ignis believes it’s always worth it to sneak him out. Makes it worth the potential tongue-lashing from the King, the anxiousness, the tiredness and aches, because all of those are nothing compared to the flicker of Noct’s happiness. To have a Noctis without a weight in his feet and pain at his fingertips, and where for a few hours, he’s just a boy who loves to fish and has a good friend willing to indulge him.

Noctis scrambles off of Ignis’s back to run the rest of the way down to the pond, with Ignis picking his way behind him (he’s always, _always_ hated downhills, always, it makes him clumsy). It’s quiet tonight. Only a few dedicated fishers huddle at their usual spots, paying no attention to two young boys who eagerly plonk themselves at a good patch near the edge where the water is dotted with lilies. Ignis moves gingerly, feeling the acute chill after the exertion of climbing up the hill. He stretches to suppress to shivers, holding out the fishing box to Noctis, expecting as usual for Noct to snatch it up and start assembling his old trusty fishing rod in record time.

Noctis does go for the fishing box, but instead he sets it on the floor, shuffling the backpack off of his shoulders.

“Right.” he says, all serious, holding the bag out for Ignis to take, “First things first.”

Ignis grabs the straps, surprised at the weight. How on Eos had Noct _carried_ it all this time? He wishes he had insisted that he’d take it from the beginning, but it’s too late now. He stands to attention and holds the bag, eyes going wide as Noctis pulls from the depths of nowhere a small foldable stool.

“What’s _that_ for?”

Noctis frowns as looks at Ignis as if his future advisor has just asked the most oblivious question ever to be uttered.

“You, of course.”

Ignis doesn’t get it. They don’t bring chairs for fishing, as they just sit at the side of the bank. And why has Noctis brought a stool for _him_ specifically? Why now? But he doesn’t get to ask any more questions. Noctis carefully unfolds the stool and guides Ignis to sit on it. Then there’s a heavy mass settling on Ignis’s neck. He blinks upward to see Noctis wrestling with his woollen bed blanket over Ignis’s shoulders, wrapping it around him as many times as he can.

“You’re cold.” The younger boy says with a childish seriousness to Ignis’s continuously surprised look, patting his now covered arms. Noctis turns once more to the backpack, rootling around a little. Ignis is about to finally protest and ask just what this is all about, when something is shoved into his hands.

“Now for the surprise. I brought you a present!”

It’s some sort of tea-towel bundle, soft and squishy. Ignis’s brow puckers as he carefully tries to pull apart the corners, and all at once it’s revealed. A tad smushed up, with bits of raspberry cream smeared into its tea-towel bubble of protection, but it smells oh so heavenly, the sponge bouncy to the touch: it’s an unmistakably large piece of berry chiffon cake.

“Saved it from dinner.” Noct elaborates, proud as punch. “And I want to see you eat it all up!”

Ignis struggles to think of something to say, the cake lying in his hands. “This… is very kind of you, Noct.” He stutters, confused, “But what’s the occasion?”

“Nothing!” Noctis keeps on beaming, grabbing at Ignis’s wrists to push the cake bundle closer to his Ignis’s chest. “But it is for _you_.”

Ignis looks down at the present again, feels the stool he’s sitting on, the soft blanket around his arms, and things struggle to come together. He doesn’t understand what Noctis is doing, _why_ he’s doing this. And the part of his brain that trains and learns and thinks on his severe future attempts to focus and knows that he should be protesting this. Noctis is the one who needs the sugar and energy, the place to sit, and the blanket. But Ignis is just too tired to speak, to think, too tired to do anything but sit and hold the present and look around him at the pond.

And besides, Noctis said it was for him.

It clicks.  _It’s for him._ The burst of affection overwhelms and tickles every nerve in Ignis’s body, twisting his lips into a sudden smile. He thought earlier on how Noctis never misses a trick, and here is the physical proof of that fact. Noctis has wanted to provide something for his friend, the one whose caught in weariness and worry and where it makes him do silly things like forget a coat. He’s wanted to make Ignis smile, make him feel happy, and as simple as the feeling is, it’s more incredible for it.

How is Ignis to refuse such care? Such a gift? He can’t, so he doesn’t. It would be wrong to do so. Careful, he breaks off a corner of the slice of cake and pops it into his mouth, aware that Noctis is intently gaging his reaction the whole time.

“Delicious.” And it absolutely is _._ The best sweet from the royal kitchen, with the fluffy sponge melting into Ignis’s mouth with the tangy taste of the berry fruits mixing with the smooth sugary cream. A brief reminder pops up in Ignis’s head as he licks his lips to get back to his baking. He’s been neglecting it for a few weeks, and he can’t do that if he wants to be able to know how to replicate something like this.

Noctis nods at the feedback, like it confirms some secret theory he’s been keeping to himself. In a way, perhaps he has. He’s finally satisfied that his friend is cared for, rubbing Ignis’s arms in approval. “Keep warm.”

Ignis wants to say more. More about the spreading mass of feeling in his chest that would feel hot to the touch if he breathed it out into the air. About how it weirdly feels like his eyes are stinging but it’s not in a bad way. About how without the threat of embarrassment, he’d like to say something about being grateful, about how he’s always glad that Noct is Noct and he’s everything in the world. But the words won’t go right. They menace the feelings, clunky and shallow as they are. Rather, Ignis thinks it best to hold his silence, watching with a smile as Noctis assembles his fishing gear, and sits on Ignis’s feet, squirming a little to get comfortable.

The prince chatters about everything to do with fishing, flicking his line back and forth with an earnest excitement, occasionally turning his head to check that Ignis is still wrapped up like a clumsy present, still picking away at his treat. Talking and talking and loving every second of this stolen freedom with his stolen hobby.

Ignis still watches quietly. Seeing Noctis catch the smallest of bluegills and immediately place them back in the water. How they leave drops on Noctis’s nose as they flicker away from his gentle hands that make them both giggle. Other fishers pay no heed to the two young boys who at this point in their lives seem only to have each other rather than the entire world at their feet. Ignis feels secure, safe, _loved_ as he rolls crumbs of cake between his fingers, watching the ripples of the Wall reflected on the surface of the pond.

It should feel like something from a dream. Rather, it is the world that feels as malleable as dust and just as insignificant. Nothing else is better, the night could not get any better. Especially as Iggy has got a Noct to care for him.


End file.
